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Copyright

FRIDAY NIGHT LIES

Copyright © 2022 by C.W. Farnsworth LLC

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

This book is a piece of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

Editing and Proofreading:

Tiffany Persaud, Burden of Proofreading

Alison Maxwell, Red Leaf Proofing

Cover Design:

Kim Wilson, KiWi Cover Design

Cover Photo:

Regina Wamba

ALSO BY C.W. FARNSWORTH

Four Months, Three Words

Kiss Now, Lie Later

The Hard Way Home

First Flight, Final Fall

Come Break My Heart Again

The Easy Way Out (The Hard Way Home Book 2)

Famous Last Words

Winning Mr. Wrong

Back Where We Began

Like I Never Said

Fly Bye

Fake Empire

Heartbreak for Two

Serve

For Now, Not Forever

Dedication

For all the hopeful romantics.

CONTENTS

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Epilogue

Acknowledgments

About the Author

ABOUT THE BOOK

His name starts with a H. So does happiness. Heartbreak. Home. Hoops. All things I associate with him.

Ever since my family moved in across the street when we were both kids, Holden Adams has been that guy. My first crush. My former confidante. My best friend’s brother. He’s the highest of highs and the lowest of lows.

I love him.

I hate him.

One of those is a lie.

I’m just…not sure which.

CHAPTER ONE

CASSIA

He smells like cinnamon. Always.

Tonight—or today, technically, since it’s past midnight—the spice is muddled by the strong scent of sweat and beer.

But still, beneath it, cinnamon.

“Cute PJ’s, flower.”

I tighten my fingers around the glass of water I’m holding as they twitch, resisting the urge to tug my plaid sleep shorts down so more of my legs are covered. My shoulders lift and tense as Holden approaches, even though I heard him walking toward the kitchen long before I caught a whiff of distinctive spice. I freeze like prey confronted with a predator, waiting to see what strategy will remove me from the situation emotionally unscathed.

Holden is always unpredictable.

My stiff posture doesn’t scream casual or indifferent, the way I try to act around him. None of my senses can ignore him. And if I’m being honest with myself—which I rarely am on Friday nights—I have never been able to. Over time, I’ve just managed to make more successful attempts at it.

“Rough night?” I ask, ignoring his comment about my plaid pajamas and sipping some water hoping it’ll douse the warmth pooling in my stomach.